


Pathways Within the Myth

by donutsweeper



Series: Pathways and Passageways [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Gen, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:11:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/pseuds/donutsweeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't by accident something like John had wound up with Sherlock, not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pathways Within the Myth

Every culture has its stories; ones that tell children of things that go bump in the night, others that teach them what happens to those who stray too far from the path, and still others that explain what science cannot. They provide history. Ideals. Cautions.

Listen, they say, or this might happen to you.

Behave, they warn, or expect to experience events such as these.

And, most of all, learn what fate befalls those who fail to do so.

However, with the passage of time society has moved from hearth to hob and its stories have moved as well, from close to the heart to the place of myths and legends, rarely spoken of and even more infrequently believed.

That matters not to John Watson and his ilk. After all, just because something is no longer thought to exist does not mean that it, in fact, no longer does. What once was does not cease to be merely because people have turned their back on it. That only makes it that much easier to hide.

And hide he did.

Humans are good at seeing what they want to see. Unassuming stature and cuddly jumpers practically scream boring and bland and people look away without ever having truly seen him at all.

Sherlock should have been different, but as much as he prided himself on observing what others did not, he was still bound by his rather inaccurate perception of how the world worked.

If it were not so convenient, it would almost be disappointing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John shouldn't have been surprised by how life with Sherlock turned out, after all it had been Mike that introduced them to one another. Mike was a muse, a special kind of beacon that helped with the focusing of the mind and provided the gentlest (although not always subtle) pushes to enable one to find the right direction. He used his role as a teacher to aide and nurture, to set paths into being and light their way. He used his role as a friend to be an insufferable busybody.

They met up occasionally, when John was in between cases and Mike in a lull between clients. 

"Sherlock and I turning out the way you thought?" John asked in a moment of rare introspection brought upon by the effects of the witching hour combining with the harvest moon and a long, trying week of murder and mayhem.

"I did have hopes," was all Mike would say in reply, but his smile shimmered in the smoke and it didn't take the Sight to see the way his eyes glowed.

"Hopes," John mimicked. " _Hopes._ Is that what we're calling it these days?" But then he slapped Mike on the back and ordered another round of stardust to show there were no hard feelings.

"Is he truly that hard to work with?" Mike asked as they were fetching their real world garments in preparation to leave.

"Being with Sherlock.... It's insane. More frustrating than hassling a fist full of sprites, more frenzied than the entire Under Kingdom and crazier than trying to win a fight with a score of puddlelumps." John shook his head.

"But you wouldn't have it any other way."

"Nope. I really wouldn't."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The chase was exhilarating- down alleyways and around corners and through gates and over skips. Sherlock's longer stride ate up the pavement as he ran, his coat flapping in the wind while John flew (not literally, never literally here amongst the humans, never ever ever) beside him, laughing along the way.

"We need to cut him off!" Sherlock gestured for John to continue straight as he turned left.

Separating enabled John to run a bit faster. Not unreasonably so, he'd been lectured too many times about attracting attention, but faster than someone of his size and frame would be reasonably able to do. Up one street, down another. Divert the lorry diver, turn the pedestrians away, encourage the traffic signals to aide him. Concentrate. 

Sherlock swooped in from the right with a diving tackle but over estimated and instead of bringing the suspect (to Sherlock he was a suspect, John knew the man was guilty, he could smell it) down and keeping him there his momentum had him rolling off and into the bags of garbage against the bin. John jumped into the fray as the man pulled a knife, kicking it out of his hand and then knocking the man unconscious with a well placed blow to the chin.

"You all right there, Sherlock?" John asked as he flipped the man over, straddled him and reached into his pocket for the zip ties he kept there for not so rare occasions they had to secure someone while waiting for the police to arrive.

"Yes, fine," Sherlock grumbled, coming to his feet and swiping dejectedly at a large patch of mud now stuck to his coat. "I'll text Lestrade and let him know we've caught his man."

"Brilliant. I'm starving. The sooner we can turn him over the sooner we can eat." Using his Skills always burned through energy, restocking his reserves as soon as possible, while not strictly necessary, was always ideal. "Will the great and powerful Sherlock be joining me or are you off food still?"

"The case is closed, no reason not to eat I suppose." Sherlock hmmmed. "I feel like Ethiopian tonight. I ran past one earlier that looked promising. You can always tell a good Ethiopian restaurant by the colour of linens, you know."

"No you can't." The colour of the kippercaps that lived there was another matter entirely, they thrived on aroma after all.

"Well, perhaps not, but if I'm not mistaken a former client is the manager there now so we could probably get the meal free of charge or at a significant discount."

"Sounds great," John replied, sitting back on his haunches as he waited for the police to arrive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There are tales that will be told of Sherlock Holmes as time comes to pass. Tales of a consulting detective and his faithful blogger. Tales of a brilliant man. Tales of a fraud. Tales of adventure and derring-do. Tales of disappointment and despair. Some are true and some are false. A few will slid into obscurity and forgotten but most are repeated, reprinted and retold over and over, again and again.

John Watson will be mentioned in most of these tales, although always as an aside, never the focus. He will not mind overly much, thus has always been the way of things and will continue to be. The time spent with Sherlock was rarely easy, often dangerous and infuriating, and never ever boring. And in the end, that is all that mattered.


End file.
